Girl talk

This is one relationship that has stood the vagaries of time. While sons might be mamma's boys, it's usually the daughters who befriend their mother more and share their big secrets with. Because more often than not, the daughters would go on to be mothers some day and would be in the same shoes.

I, too, shared a very close relation with my mother. Born in 1915 in the orthodox city of Rawalpindi in west Punjab, now in Pakistan, Biji (as we fondly called our mother) was quite her own woman. She would be characteristically wrapped up in her dupattas and baggy salwars. At just 23, Biji became mother to a 12-year-old girl. That girl was my step sister-my father's child from his first wife. Biji recalled: "As I entered my marital home there was this little girl standing with her hands folded. She said, 'Namaste Mataji.' I had lost my mother when I was seven so I could feel her pain. It was like the little girl was me. I hugged her and said: 'Call me Biji.'" This mother-daughter bond lasted for over half a century.

Those were not the days when families were planned. So my mother bore five sons, yearning each time for a daughter. I was born to her when she had reached the ripe middle age of 40. Though it was not the Rawalpindi of 1915, the times, it seemed, still hadn't changed. Even in 1955, the birth of a girl child was not cause enough for jubilation.

But Biji, being the firebrand that she was, defied our conservative Mohyal Brahmin community by distributing laddoos. Also, I was given special treatment by my mother, much to the chagrin of my five brothers. This also annoyed other relatives, who felt that my mother was unnecessarily spoiling me. According to them, girls had to be prepared for the hurdles they would face later on in life.

But for Biji, the girl child was an extension of herself, a continuation of the race. Hence, she wouldn't mind putting up a hard fight when faced with societal norms that were patriarchal. This was Biji's way of making mothers and daughters become allies, supporting each other when it came to facing a hostile world. Ideally, this would also extend to the daughters-in-law or the sisters-in-law, but the mother-daughter bond rarely failed.

Amidst this bonding we did have our share of disagreements. It wasn't that I did not trouble her. At times I found her too rigid and oppressive. But it was when she died, that I realised the extent of my loss. Here I would like to say that my older sister, who was not Biji's biological daughter, and I looked after our mother through her painful last years after she fell ill. She was immobilised, stuck by paralysis. She was suffering a lot and I would often find myself praying for her deliverance. Finally when she passed into the good night, there was a sense of vacuum. In fact, my sister was more desolate. "You shared only 45 years with her, I shared 65," she said.

I recall now how I would oppose my mother saying: "I would rather die than wear a salwar!" It was churidaars that were in vogue, not baggy salwars. Later, when the salwar-trend returned, I did get a few stitched. My mother would tease me: "I see you are wearing a salwar and you are still alive." And so the difference was laughed away. This was one of her ways of parenting us-laughing it off but making a point nonetheless.

One important aspect was that she shared her activities with me and as an adult I did the same. Wherever I could, I took my mother to holidays or symposia and get-togethers that she would enjoy. Biji always wanted to give her daughters a good education and equip them with the skills required to face life and to make informed choices.

The freedom that girls now enjoy would have thrilled Biji, had she been alive today. She once told me: "Once, when you were a baby, I took you out in your pram and an adolescent girl passed us on her bicycle, whistling. I was really thrilled. This would have been a sacrilege in my adolescence."

Today, all these memories come back and help me mother my young daughter. Today, when I lose my patience, I ask myself how Biji would have reacted in a similar situation. Like I told my mother that salwars would mean the death of me, so does my daughter on various things. But somehow, after the storm has blown over, we are able to restore the mother-daughter bond.

I also wonder sometimes if my daughter would look back in time to pick up mothering tips for her children. Would she also mother her children the same way I did? I guess this is how it goes on, the bond from mother to daughter. As I ponder on motherhood, I also whisper a silent prayer that all mothers are brave and find the courage to fight for their daughters born and unborn.

Nirupama Dutt is a writer and journalist. When she isn't putting her pen to paper she prefers to spend time with her teenaged daughter.

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